Familiar Faces
by the.huffalump
Summary: Crellie. A few years after "Degrassi Goes Hollywood", Craig and Ellie meet by chance. But will their reuinion reignite the spark, or leave a bad taste in their mouths?
1. alone

**Author's Note:** Um, this story kinda takes a while to break into Craig/Ellie interraction because they haven't seen eachother since their _Casablanca_ scene in Degrassi Goes Hollywood. It's eventual Crellie, I guess. The first couple chapters are mostly an introduction to the rest of the story. If you want to skip ahead, I guess you can, but if you wan't the full expirience, I'd read it from the beginning. Well, that's all. For now. I guess, enjoy.

* * *

familiar faces

a Crellie

_a _

_he said/she said-style _

_story _

_detailing _

_the last meeting of _

_Craig _

_and _

_Ellie_

* * *

**_alone-Ellie_**

_**I **__'m such a loser._ I think as I realize I'm probably the only person in this room who isn't in the middle of a deep conversation about the meaning of life or health care or how they get the jelly in the jelly-filled doughnuts. Nope. I'm standing all alone in the corner, desperately wishing I had dragged Marco along to this so I could at least _pretend_ I was discussing one of life's mysteries.

"It's okay, Marco! The seminar only lasts a week, and you _can't_ miss your calculus classes. Besides, I'm sure I'll find somebody to talk to. I mean, I'm not some loser sociopath."

And here I am, standing alone in the corner, wishing the clock would tick faster so we could all just go back into the auditorium for the next lecture like some loser sociopath. I take a bite of the cookie I'm holding and notice a cute guy across the room. I would go up there and talk to him, but I'm suddenly frigid with fear. Marco always goes up to talk to people for me. He makes insta-friends and then he introduces me. THAT'S HOW IT GOES.

I eye a passing waiter carrying glasses of champagne. _That sure would break the ice,_ I think. _No, Ellie, bad Ellie! That never leads anywhere good! _Nope. If I'm going to make an ass out of myself, I'm going to do it stone-cold sober.

I study the guy for a while. He seems to be talking to somebody, but not really _lost_ in the conversation, so I wouldn't be interrupting the meaning of life. I take a deep breath and swallow the last bite of my cookie. _I'm going to do it. I'm going to approach him. I _can_ do it, _I tell myself as I slowly make my way across the room towards him. I'm a few feet away from him when I catch his eye. I try to act like I'm just taking a stroll and not desperately seeking companionship.

I don't think this works, because he soon says something to the other person, shakes his hand, and starts walking towards me. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief; he's going to approach me. Even if it _is_ out of pity, it's still _something_. He walks over toward me and I take this moment to examine him; long, coffee-colored hair tied into a short ponytail at the back, tanned skin, and a blinding white smile stretched across his face.

"Hello, I don't believe we've met before." He says, coming up to me and extending a hand. "Are you here for the Journalism seminar?"

His eyelashes are really long…they almost remind me of…wait…he just asked me something. Um…a nod is a legitimate answer to most questions, right? I nod and introduce myself. "Hi, I'm Ellie Nash." I reach for his hand.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," He bends over and kisses my hand. "Gabriel Jimenez, at your service."

I can feel my face go completely red and my cheeks start to burn. _Well, aren't _you _a flirt, Mister Gabe._ "Um, yeah…" I awkwardly say as I awkwardly pull my hand out of his grasp. Awkwardly.

"So, do you live around here?" He says, remaining really smooth considering how awkward everything has gotten on my side of the conversation.

"Actually, no. I'm from Toronto. Studying at TU." I awkwardly gesture to the poster hanging outside the auditorium detailing the seminar. "I'm majoring in journalism."

"Interesting. I'm actually attending a class right now, History of Rock N' Roll, upstairs. It just ended and one of my friends is at this seminar, so I decided to come down to visit him."

"History of Rock N' Roll? That's seriously a class?" I awkwardly blurt out. I realize how ignorant that must've sounded, so I quickly added, "Sounds awesome! Learning about The Smiths all day? Sign me up!" And I make this awkward by emitting a half-assed chuckle.

He didn't seem to notice. In fact, he laughed a little himself. "The _Smiths_? Uh, no. I said History of _Rock_, not History of Suck," He said, taking a sly sip from his glass.

My eyes widened. Well, there's no accounting for taste. I look off to the side and mumble something to the floor.

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing. Just that you must either have a brain hemorrhage or _bad taste in music._" I raise my eyebrows, challenging him.

"And this is coming from a _Smiths_ fan." He smiles, rolling his eyes.

I can't finish my 'mhm', because a woman's voice over a loudspeaker interrupts me. The voice calls everyone back into the auditorium for the next lecture.

"Oh, I should…probably…" I gesture to the crowd pouring through the auditorium doors.

"Oh, yeah," I turn towards the auditorium, but he grabs my arm, pulling me back. "Actually," he says, "I'm having a party tonight at eight. Do you want to come? We can finish this conversation there."

"Sure," I smile and he quickly scribbles down an address on the back of the seminar schedule.

He hands it to me and I nod to him, "I'll see you there!", before turning back into another part of the crowd.


	2. strum

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the characters portrayed in this story.

* * *

**_strum_-Craig**

As My Guitar Slowly Strums.

_Strum, strum, strum._

_Hum, hum, hum._

This is how songwriting works, right?

I throw my guitar at the floor, aggravated. "WHY WON'T YOU WORK?" I fall back onto my twin mattress and bury my head in my hands.

I hear the door creak open and feel like hiding under my covers like an ashamed little kid.

"Craig? What happened here?" Kenny looks at me, kinda freaked out.

I look up at him, cupping my chin in my hands. "It's broken." I tell him. Plain and simple.

"What is? The guitar or your brain?" Kenny says, placing the brown paper bag of groceries on top of our R2D2-sized refrigerator.

"Everything," I explain.

"Well, that's…incredibly vague." He picks the guitar up off the floor and strums a few chords. "Hm. Well, your guitar's fine." He walks across the room and puts it away in its case. "But it _won't_ be if you keep having your little diva tantrums."

I shoot right up from the bed and begin frantically pacing around the room. "I. Can't. Think. Of. Anything."

"Ah. Songwriter's block," Kenny nodded. "I used to get it all the time. And do you know the one sure-fire cure for it?" He smiles.

I shake my head. "Dude, I don't do that stuff anymore."

"No, no! I meant partying! Gabe's throwing one tonight and guess who's playing."

"Ken,_ please_ tell me you didn't—"

"Relax, dude. He got a DJ. You need a night off. A chance to just cool down and relax." He grabs the bag of groceries and begins loading the fridge with them. "Or hook up with the latest chick he's charmed into coming but isn't giving the time of day. Your choice."

I sigh. "Kenny, the_ last _thing I need right now is girl trouble."

He waves his hand dismissively at me from behind the refrigerator door. "I dunno. Maybe you could use it for inspiration." Kenny grabs a half-full jar of mixed nuts and starts patting it like a drum. And the lyrics pour out. "_I don't even know your name/But girl, you're making me go insane. The way you _(pat, pat) _shake your hips/ when I _(pat, pat)_ lean to kiss your lips. I—"_

"I get it, dude," I interrupt him before he starts getting graphic. And it's Kenny. So I know he _will_ go there. "I'll go to the party tonight."

"Alright!" Kenny's fist shoots up into the air.

"You're _such_ a loser," I say, reaching for my guitar.

I take a deep breath. Back to square one.

_Strum, strum, strum._


	3. revelations

**Disclaimer: **I only own the words between the proper nouns.

* * *

**_commit_-Ellie**

My car pulls up right at the address Gabriel gave me.

_This can't be right_, I think as I notice that there is only one car in the driveway. I look at the clock on my dashboard. 8:30. I'm thirty minutes late and there's _still_ nobody here? Did he cancel? Did he change thte time?

A thought popped into my head and then sunk down into my throat and stuck there as a lump. _What if there never was a party? _What if this Gabriel guy just found an excuse to get me over to his place for a quick hookup? I suddenly went frigid with fear.

Then, another thought popped into my head.

_So what?_

_So_ _what_ if it is just a quick hook up? I can deal with that. I mean, don't half of college relationships last, like, three hours, anyway? And besides—I smile a little—at least he's really hot.

For a guy who hates The Smiths, at least.

In fact, I don't need a relationship right now. I'm young, I'm going to college on the other side of Canada, and I'm red-headed for trouble. Commitment is the one thing that always got me when it came to relationships. Sean was in love with his ex. Craig wanted something completely physical (cue Santos). Jesse wouldn't know commitment if it bit his who-knows-where-it's-been ass! The only guy I've ever gotten to commit to a relationship is _gay_!

I smack my head against the steering wheel and the horn honks back at me in protest.

It's just like Mika said, if you're suckin' too hard on your lollipop, love's gonna get you down.

And, right now, I do not need love getting me down.

Right now I need to take a page out of Manning's playbook and mindlessly hook up. Completely physical. Ellie: Live, One Night Only before she moves on to the next town. Separate love from fun, because I'm the one that always gets burned.

Right now, I need a good, old-fashioned, unglorified, quick-but-satisfying hook up.

(Cue Gabriel)


	4. scripted

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own anything.

* * *

_scripted_-Craig

**H**ipster girl 1:_ Hey, didn't you play [insert venue here] the other day?_

Me:_ Yeah, I did._

Hipster girl 2: _You were great! _

Me:_ Thanks._

Hipster girl 1:_ Seriously, it was so _[insert obscure indie band that she'll get brownie points with me for knowing]_! _

Hipster girl 2 [batting eyelashes]: _Do you think you could teach me that song you _[opened/closed]_ with sometime?_

Me: _Oh, you play?_

Hipster girl 2 [shrugs]:_ I dabble._

Hipster girl 1: _If you wanna call us sometime, here's my number. _[Hands slip of paper and Hipster girl 2 follows suit.]

Me: _Thanks. I'll see you around, I guess._

It was getting to be like a template. Fill in the blanks, circle one, flirting dialogue: complete.

I felt an arm drape across my shoulders and looked up into Kenny's wide, bloodshot eyes. "How do you do it, man? That was, like, the _fourth _girl tonight that practically begged you to get with them."

I shrug. "I don't know, that last short one is giving out her number like a business card," I pointed to her presenting a slip of paper to a guy who looked too old to even know anybody here.

Kenny grabbed the collar of my shirt. "What price do you want, man? Tell me your secret." The smell of whiskey was disturbingly tangible in the air between our faces.

"How about your soul?"

"Damn," He let go of my collar and backed off. "I just sold it to Robin for that last bit of pot."

"Too bad, dude. No secret for you then." I really shouldn't mess with wasted people like this, but it's so entertaining.

"Fuck! For real?" I followed Kenny's finger and noticed a small group of girls walking in this direction, pointing and giggling while shooting fleeting glances in my direction. Kenny cut them off before they could approach me and the director could shout _"action". _"What? No love for the drummer? C'mon!"

I couldn't help but smile as their eyes bugged out in response to Kenny's rancid breath. I think the one closest to him started choking a little bit.

"Hey, could you guys move over a little?" Gabe tries walking past us with the (I'm guessing, spiked) punch.

Kenny starts guffawing like a drunken ass and then points to someone walking towards us. "Hey, look! It's someone you haven't hooked up with yet!"

My eyes trace the direction of his hand and widen to the size of dinner plates when I find the girl he was referring to.

"Ellie Nash?"


	5. punch

**Disclaimer:** Don't own nothin' but the storyline.

* * *

**_punch_-Ellie**

_**I** guess people are real carpoolers around here,_ I think as I examine the raging party inside. _Either that or they all live close by. _The Gabriel-hook up thing out the window,I scan the room, searching for any familiar faces. I'd be glad to recognize anybody right now; at _least _somebody from the journalism seminar.

And I suddenly realize that I've just stuck myself in yet another situation that I could not handle without Marco. Because, really, how different is this party from the seminar? Either place I don't know anybody, I'm too shy to talk to anybody new, and I'm stuck alone in the corner, watching everyone else socialize and imagine what it would be like if I was there with them.

I people-watch from my post near a snack table. I overhear a conversation about how some girl named Evelyn came back from Christmas Break thirty pounds and six thousand dollars lighter. _What a slut,_ they say. _Why couldn't she just work it off like the rest of us instead of having her daddy buy her a skinny body? _One adds. _Nobody likes her anyway, like the fact that she's not a fat-ass anymore is going to change that._

I bite down on my lip and dig my fingernails into the palm of my hand to keep myself from spinning around and telling them off.

_It's her body,_ I would say. _Why should anybody else care about what she does with it?_ _Don't call her a 'slut' because she wanted to lose some weight. If you're going to insult her at least get your terminology right, bitch._ I would turn around and march right out of this party, not giving them a chance to respond or pick their jaws up off the floor.

But I don't.

I stay at my post, guarding the Ritz crackers, silently searching the room for the asshole who invited me here and isn't bothering giving me the time of day. My eyes skim over the room one last time before I resign to the punch bowl.

I fill a cup with punch and mindlessly take a sip, pondering what I'm going to do for the rest of this party. A burning sensation ignites in the back of my mouth and flames licked the walls of my throat as I swallowed the punch.

I take a stab and guess that it is not caused by somebody dropping a habanero in my cup, but by my old nemesis, Irish whiskey. Unsurprisingly, my body's first reaction to this toxin is to naturally expel it by ways of choking it up loudly and flamboyantly.

Stumbling backwards, I somehow manage to make an even bigger ass of myself by bumping into somebody and nearly knocking them over. They catch me before both of us fall, though. When I'm standing perpendicular to the ground, I turn to apologize.

"Oh my gosh, I'm _so_—" I take a second to look at my savior.

"Hey! You're the Smith's fan from UBC this morning, right?" Gabriel's ultra-brite smile still glistening in the dim lighting.

"Yeah, um, fancy running into you here," I kind of grin and awkwardly scratch the back of my neck.

He takes note of the cup in my hand. "I can see you tried the punch. Are you feeling okay?"

"Well, I didn't really—"

"Maybe you should lie down. I saw that asshole Kenny going to town with that punch bowl," Gabriel picks up the bowl of punch and wraps his free arm around my shoulders. "I'm gonna pour this out; how about you get some rest? You can take my room back here." We dodge through the crowd, Gabriel trying to avoid spilling the punch and potentially blinding somebody. We make our way to the back of the apartment where the crowd thins out into sparse clumps of people.

Gabriel lets go of me to shoo away some people standing in front of the door. The group disperses excepting two guys. One (who is clearly trashed) points to me and says, "Hey, look! It's someone you haven't hooked up with yet!"

"Ellie Nash?" I hear the other guy exclaim.

Wait…he looks familiar.


	6. rock

**_rock_-Ellie**

**"Y**OU SOLD YOUR CAR FOR DRUGS?"

"Well, after my soul, it was, like, the only thing left." The guy starts rambling in explanation.

"WHAT ON…WHY THE…"He sputtered, not being able to fathom the trashed mess of a man that stood in front of him. "YOU STONED ASS!"

I walk over to them in the corner of the room and tap on Craig's shoulder, hoping maybe I'll get a word in edgewise. He turns around. I see StonedBob HighPants stumble off before mean ol' Craig can turn back around and yell at him. Phase one accomplished. Initiate phase two: "Um, Craig? I _drove_ here. In a rental car. I can drive back whenever I want to."

He blinks. "And…you don't want to," he concludes.

I shake my head.

He looks at my expression for a second before he understands that I'm not drunk. This realization hits him the way puberty will hit Justin Bieber one day. Like. A. Rock. -_Facepalm moment-._

"Oh…so…" Craig scratches his elbow, obviously feeling the awkwardness of this situation. "How do you know Gabe?"

I blink. Craig blushes a little. "You know…the guy who's throwing this party?" Wait, there are other people here?

My turn to have a -_facepalm moment-._ "Oh! Yeah, Gabe! We actually met this morning at BCU during a journalism seminar I'm attending." I nod, as if convincing myself, _Yeah, that's how it happened_. "How about you?"

"Gabe's my bassist. Well, the bassist. In my band. He's the reason I'm out here, actually. We've been searching for a good bassist for a while and we heard about him. The record company sent us out here to scout him and he's a fuck-good bassist. Too bad he has such crappy taste in music."

I smiled and leaned against the wall, finally starting to feel comfortable for the first time in Vancouver. "Yeah, nothing good comes of people who hate The Smiths."

"So, is that the _real _reason you're here?" Craig smiles slyly.

I, however, am completely clueless as to what he's hinting towards. I try to guess. "…Arguing with Latinos over their choice of rock bands?"

He looks confused now. "No! I mean The Smiths tribute concert tonight!"

My jaw drops.

To.

The.

Floor.

"…_What?_"

"You mean you didn't know?"

Well, that would explain my response!

"Sorry, sorry…" Craig starts retreating in the conversation. _Oh, no you don't!_ "I thought you knew, being all in-tune music scene journalist…"

"In _Toronto_! On the other side of _Canada_! Now finish about this concert!" If I have to strangle the information out of him, the venue will be his dying words.

"Well, to be honest, I don't know much about it. It's supposed to be in this really obscure club somewhere downtown. Fluid or Pygmy or some other singular noun like that. It's basically a bunch of Vancouver's locally famous bands putting their own sorta spins on the original songs."

All of my shock and abrasiveness towards Craig bubbles up into _sofreakinggiddyness_. "Okay, one more question…" Are my hands trembling?

"Yeah?" He smiles. Yes, I do look like I'm going to pee myself in excitement. So what?

"Why are we still here?" I grab his arm and start pulling him towards the exit—wherever it is. The whole party just seems like a whole throbbing mass of swirling color and lights…

How much of that punch did I swallow?

I hear Craig laughing behind me. "Calm_ down_, Ellie. We'll get there! It probably doesn't even start until midnight."

I try to stabilize myself momentarily against a couch before reclaiming his arm and dragging him closer to the door. "It will take us that, if _longer_, to find it."

"And why am I coming with you?" He laughs some more.

I roll my eyes. "Please, you_ so_ want to. You were just waiting for someone to rescue you from that party." I stop for a moment while we're right in front of the door. I switch to serious-mode momentarily. "I know you, Craig." And he knows I know him. "I know you, and you are in a funk. You need to snap out of it." I smile and open the door for us.

Craig and Ellie's Night of Smiths, here we come.


End file.
